The Descent Into Hell is Easy
by kluhrissa
Summary: When Cato and Clove become District 2's tributes in the 74th Hunger Games, they must put aside their hatred for each other if they want to survive.
1. Chapter 1

I strut into the Training Center, oozing the confidence that every Career tribute should possess. The air inside is cold and clean, but give it a few hours and it will reek of blood and sweat. I take a deep breath, savoring the crisp, untainted air that I know so well.

In fact, this _is _all I know – the lifestyle of a tribute-in-training. The day I turned 7, I was sent to the best Training Center in all of District 2. You're _supposed _to start training at 10 years old, but my parents are high up on the social ladder in our district and are rich, so I got in early. I'm 16 now, and I haven't gone a day without training. Everyday I'm either in the gym mastering a new technique or hitting the books and working on my survival skills. I don't remember what my life was like before this, and quite frankly, I don't care; there's no turning back now.

"Hey Clove," a familiar voice shouts from across the gym, "you volunteering today?"

I turn and face the boy, staring him down with a menacing gaze; it's Cato Morgensen.

You know, I have hated a lot of people in my life, but my hate for Cato burns stronger than my hate for anything or anybody else. I imagine my icy glare whittling him down to the worthless nobody that I believe he is, and absentmindedly smirk at the pleasing results.

"What do you think?" I shout back at the tall, blond 18-year-old boy.

"Answering a question with a question; how predictable." He adds, shaking his head.

People are starting to surround our instructors in the center of the gym, so I stalk over and join them. Cato knows just the right words to say to get under my skin, and it drives me insane.

My thoughts are cut off by the booming voice of our head instructor, Alexios.

"Listen up!" he exclaims, waiting for the 29 of his pupils to settle down. "As you all should know, today is the Reaping for the 74th Annual Hunger Games." Excited whispers grow louder around the circle, but Alexios continues to talk. "And I want to remind you that only Senior Division students are allowed to volunteer, are we clear?" Disappointed sighs spread across the room and I get a few dirty glares from the other trainees.

You see, everyone hates me because I'm only 16 and I'm in the Senior Division, which consists only of 18-year-olds. But I've been in it since I was 15, seeing as though I had already completed the 8 years of required training.

"Now go put on your best clothes; the Reaping starts in an hour." As the younger divisions left the gym, he turned to address the five of us in the Senior Division. "There are five of you, and two of you better be tributes by the end of the day. One of you is going to die a warrior in the arena, and one of you _will _come home victorious. No exceptions." The five of us look at each other, wondering whose funeral we'd be attending in a few weeks. "Good luck to the two of you who are brave enough to take the challenge." And with that, he left the room.

"Well that was cheery." Cato said to no one in particular.

"What did you expect, a pep talk? Alexios sees the world in black and white; he doesn't sugar coat the truth. It would be wise if we did the same." I say coldly.

Without waiting for a reaction, I spin on my heel and walk out of the door and up to my dorm.

* * *

Choosing my outfit for the Reaping is easy, seeing as though I've had it picked out for months. It's a simple white dress that hits just above my knees. The dress has short sleeves and has no embellishments; it's plain. The white makes my skin look tanner and my hair even blacker than it was before. I take my thick hair out of a ponytail and comb my fingers through the tangles, letting it fall in soft waves reaching my waist. I pin back a few of the strands framing my face and look in the mirror. The dress may be simple, but it's still too feminine for me.

I leave the mirror, knowing that I'll never be pleased until I'm in something with pant legs, and grab my necklace from the bedside table. Like the dress, it's plain – it's just a small, dented silver ball at the end of a silver chain.

I leave my room for the last time, fastening the piece of jewelry around my neck, never stopping to look back on my way to the square.

* * *

At 2'o'clock sharp, the mayor steps up to the podium on the stage in front of the Justice Building and begins to talk about Panem's history and why we have the Hunger Games. It's the same stuff every year, so I don't bother paying attention. He then reads off the list of past District 2 victors. We use it as bragging rights because only one district can say that they've had the most victors, and that's us.

The mayor goes back to his seat and our escort, Agatha Churchwell, is next to take the stage. She spreads her electric blue lips in a wide smile as she steps up, her skintight silver dress glimmering with every movement.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor." She practically sings, throwing her arms in the air theatrically. Her sleeves, which are poufs the size of bowling balls, hit her in the face, but Agatha pretends it never happened and keeps the show going, only stopping to fix her bright orange hair piled high up on her head.

"Ladies first." She chirps.

Like a bird pecking the soft earth, she snatches a slip on paper from a large glass bowl on her left. Peeling it open, she reads the name off. "Charis Finch!"

"I volunteer as tribute!" I shout confidently from the front of the crowd.

Agatha Churchwell beckons me up to the stage with a long, bony finger and I walk up the steps and onto the platform.

"What's your name?" the escort asks me.

"Clove Englewood." I reply flatly.

Up close you can see that her eyes are a shade of toxic green with pupils like a lizard's or a cat's. They are framed by bright orange eyelashes that match her hair and are at least three inches long.

"Onto the boys!" she chimes excitedly.

As she goes to draw a name, I stare out into the crowd, trying to look bored and threatening at the same time. Good thing I mastered that look when I was about 13.

"Cato Morgensen!" she read aloud.

Cato came barreling up the steps looking like he just won the lottery. I tried not to look too pleased; I can't wait to sink a knife into that brute's chest.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes Cato Morgensen and Clove Englewood!"

* * *

**Author's Note: ** Thank you so much for reading! I decided to write a new Clato fanfic and looked at their relationship differently, gave them different back stories and changed, well, almost everything so that it didn't reflect my first Clato fanfic. Please leave a review telling me what you think! And remember, you don't need to have an account to leave a review.


	2. Chapter 2

Shortly after the Reaping, a handful of Peacekeepers escort Cato and I into separate rooms of the Justice Building. Like most things in District 2, the room is luxurious; it has a tan, plush carpet, a deep red velvet couch with two matching, overstuffed armchairs, a mahogany coffee table and a sturdy bookshelf sporting a thin layer of dust. It's probably some sort of waiting room, but today it serves a different purpose. This is where my friends and family will come and say goodbye to me for the next hour. I don't expect anybody to show up, so I sit down in one of the cozy armchairs and wait for the time to pass.

After what feels like 45 minutes, there's a knock at the door and two Peacekeepers enter the room. It couldn't have been an hour already… could it?

Three figures usher in behind them and the two men in uniform leave, closing the door on their way out.

"Clove, we're so proud of you." The woman says, putting her hand on my shoulder.

I brush it off and stand up, taking in the three strangers. The woman next to me is petite, like me, with dark hair and pearly skin. The man by the door is tall and slender with tan skin, black hair, and dark eyes – eyes like mine. Then there's a boy, who can't be more than eight years old, who looks just like the man, but with the woman's blue eyes. After a few seconds, I finally recognize the two adults.

"Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?" I ask, clearly taken by surprise at their arrival.

"We wouldn't want to miss seeing our firstborn off to compete in the Hunger Games, now would we?" My father replied.

"Wait, firstborn? I thought I was an only child."

"Oh, we must've forgotten to tell you sweetie." My mom said. I cringe at the word 'sweetie'; I was never one for pet names.

She gestures to the skinny boy, "This is your 7-year-old brother, Lykos."

I guess I should feel something – anger, pain – but I feel nothing; these people are strangers to me. But still, how do you _forget _to tell your daughter that she has a brother? Clearly I'm an afterthought to them. They probably forgot I even existed until they heard my name at the Reaping.

"Seven? Shouldn't he be training?" I inquire out of curiosity.

"We only need one child to bring us glory." My mother said logically.

I stop to process what she just said and, next thing I know, I'm shouting at my parents.

"So what, that's all I'm worth? That's my sole purpose in life? To bring you fame, fortune and _glory_?" I scramble for more words to say, trying to find the right words to make them hurt.

"Clove…" My mother starts, but I cut her off.

"No, don't _'Clove' _me. You two are rich, selfish bastards! You don't even care about me. If you did, you would've tried to contact me over the past nine years. But no, my parents don't love me enough to do even that!" My eyes are stinging with tears from my frustration and my hands are shaking.

My father opens his mouth to start speaking, probably to try to comfort me, but before he can get the words out I pick up a book off of the shelf and throw it past his head, making it hit the wall behind him.

"Get out!" I shout, reaching for another volume to hurl at them.

Before I can throw it, the two Peacekeepers from before rush in and force my family out into the hall. As soon as they're gone, I collapse into the chair behind me and try to clear my head.

Too soon, the door behind me opens again, this time revealing Alexios, my trainer.

"Hey, Clove!"

"Alexios!"

He catches me in a big hug that lifts me off of the floor. It was the kind of embrace that I _should _ have gotten from my father 10 minutes ago, but that doesn't really bother me; Alexios has been my father figure since the first day I entered the Training Center.

"Okay, now let's be serious for a second." He says, releasing me from the bear hug. He takes a deep breath, running his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "You're as prepared for these games as your ever going to be, but you have to remember not to get too confident; that'll be easier for you than it will be for Cato. Also, spend time studying the other tributes, finding their weak points, and building smart alliances. Lastly, remember that you have an audience that you _have_ to please; do whatever you can to get those sponsors because they may end up saving your life."

"Thanks, Alexios. I won't let you down."

Right on time, four Peacekeepers burst through the door – two to take my instructor out of the building, two to escort me to the train. As we walk out of the room, Alexios turns and gives me one last piece of advice.

"Oh, and Clove, keep a level head and _don't trust anyone_."

With that, he disappears around the corner and I walk out the front doors of the Justice Building to board the train to the Capitol.

Minutes later I am standing on the boarding platform next to Cato. Neither of us smile and wave at the photographers or the crowd; instead we just stand there, looking like the vicious Careers we are.

After what feels like forever, Agatha Churchwell ushers us onto the train. And when the doors close behind us, I let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding in.

"Your mentors and I will be expecting you in the dining car in two hours." Our escort says, pointing to the door behind her. She turned to go through the doorway, but stopped in her tracks to give us more instructions. "Your rooms are through that door. Enjoy!" And with that, she was gone.

"Come on." I say, grabbing Cato by the shirt and dragging him into one of the two rooms past the door Agatha just gestured to. Much to my surprise, he didn't meet me with any resistance.

Once we reach the room, I shove him into an elegant wooden chair along the far wall.

"Feeling a bit aggressive today?" Cato asks with a devious twinkle in his eye. "It's okay, I would be too if my parents abandoned me nine years ago."

"How did you –"

"Thin walls." He replied with a smile.

"Anyway," I say, my tone indicating that my family is no longer up for discussion, "I'm here to propose an alliance."

He sits in his chair, mulling it over for a good minute or two. "No."

"Why not?" I ask impatiently.

"Give me one good reason to make you my ally." He says, standing up and walking towards me.

"You should ally up with me because you're not just going to get by on brute strength; you need brains – you need me."

"And what's in it for you?" Cato asks, standing only inches from me now, probably trying to intimidate me. He's almost a foot taller than me, so I have to crane my neck to look him in the eye.

_Because it'll be easier to kill you_. "Two fighters are better than one."

He ponders this for a moment, and then I see something click in his eyes – like a light bulb just went off.

"Well Englewood, today is your lucky day." He sticks his hand out for me to shake. "You've got yourself an ally."


	3. Chapter 3

I sit on the edge of my bed, fiddling with the necklace around my throat. I still remember what my best friend, Photine, said to me when she gave it to me on my 14th birthday.

"_Why is it dented?" I asked, turning the imperfect silver ball over in my hands._

"_Because everybody has imperfections. I know how hard you are on yourself, so I got you this necklace to remind you that everybody makes mistakes, and that it's okay to be flawed; our imperfections are what make us beautiful." Photine said_

_I pull her into a fierce hug, grateful that she knew just the right words to say to make me feel better._

I hold the pendant in my closed fist, wishing that I could talk to her. I wonder what advice she'd give me now.

She died that year in a training accident. It felt like some cruel joke to have my only friend taken away from me like that. Photine had always been so full of light and wisdom, despite only being 16; she balanced me out like a good friend should.

A rapid knock sounded at the door. "Dinner!" Agatha chimed.

After tucking the necklace back into my dress, I make my way over to the dining car to meet my mentor.

* * *

When I step into the room, the two mentors and our escort are already sitting at the table. It's not surprising that Cato isn't here yet; I've always been more punctual than he is. You see, Cato thinks that the world revolves around him and likes to remind people of it by never showing up on time and making everybody run on his schedule. I imagine that it annoys people to no end, but they keep their mouths shut because they're terrified of him.

"Clove, this is your mentor, Enobaria." Agatha announced as I sat down.

At that, Enobaria smiled at me from across the table. It was probably supposed to be a warm smile, but her pointed golden teeth made it menacing.

"I've heard a lot about you, Clove. In fact, I couldn't wait for you to volunteer! You're certainly the best our district has to offer." Enobaria praised.

"Oh please, you think she stands a chance against Cato? He's the epitome of a perfect tribute." Cato's mentor, Brutus, argued.

"Ah, there you are!" Our escort exclaimed as Cato sauntered into the room, taking the seat next to me.

"I've beaten Cato in countless fights; I can beat him just as easily in the games." I add, hopefully injuring Cato's and Brutus's egos.

"Last time I checked the board we were tied."

Our argument is cut short when the Avoxes bring in our food. I recognize almost none of the foods, so I stick with a familiar meal of fish and rice. The majority of dinner is silent, save for Agatha's attempts at starting a conversation.

When we finish, we make our way over to the lounge car to watch a recap of the Reapings. Yet again, I'm stuck sitting next to Cato. Our legs touch when we sit on the small couch and the contact makes me tense up.

District 1 comes on the screen and our mentors both agree that their tributes would make great allies. I nod my head, feigning agreement. I never liked District 1, and I probably never will.

They also tell us to make an alliance with the pair from District 4, seeing as though they, too, have been training for the games for years.

The rest of the Reapings pass by with none of the tributes making a lasting impression. But when the boy from 11 shows up on the screen, Brutus insists that we consider him in our alliance because he's so strong.

Shortly afterword, the dump that is District 12 appears on the screen and a little blonde girl is reaped. From the back of the 16-year-old girl's section, a frantic voice calls out, volunteering as tribute. As it turns out, the girl that was reaped is her sister.

"Keep an eye on her," Enobaria starts, "someone with that much courage isn't something you should ignore."

After the boy from 12 was reaped, our mentors and our escort left the room, telling us to be at breakfast at 9.

Cato and I stayed up watching Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman reliving previous games, studying the victor's strategies. It was a comfort to some extent – Alexios used to have us do this every Friday night.

At some point I started to fall asleep. Instead of getting up and going back to my strange and unfamiliar room, I stayed on the couch next to Cato. We may hate each other, but he's the only familiar thing on this train, and I could use some familiarity right now.

Somewhere around the coverage of the 50th Hunger Games, my eyes fluttered closed and I fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

I wake up with my head resting on Cato's shoulder with his arm around me, his head propped up on his other hand. He's still asleep, so I turn my head to look up at his face. The idea of seeing Cato vulnerable has always fascinated me, and for some reason I don't feel the urge to slit his throat while I have the chance. He doesn't look like the Cato Morgensen I've grown to hate; he looks younger and calm in his sleep.

I gaze into his face awhile longer, wishing that I knew this side of Cato instead of the menace that inhabits him when he's awake. I wonder if people think that about me, too. Or maybe this is the only side I have and maybe I was coldhearted from the start. Maybe that's why my parents decided to send me away so young.

I let the steady beat of Cato's heart bring me out of my thoughts and relax me, but I still can't shake the feeling that there's more to Cato than I can see.

"Is there a reason you've been staring at me for the past five minutes?" he mutters.

I switch gears immediately, returning to the girl that can't wait to kill Cato. "I was deciding whether or not to slit your throat."

"Liar. If you were, you would've done it by now." He said, getting up and stretching. "I know you Clove; better than you think I do. And you're kinda predictable." And with that, he turned and walked out the door.

Once he's gone, I stand up and head back to my room to change out of my wrinkled Reaping dress.

* * *

As soon as I settled on a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, I make my way over to the dining car for breakfast. Agatha and Enobaria are already there when I walk in. I go and take the seat across from my mentor. Brutus and Cato come shortly after, filling in the empty seats.

While I munch on an omelet, our escort fills Cato and I in on what will happen once we reach the Capitol.

"When we pull into the station, we will immediately go to the Remake Center where your prep teams will polish you up and your stylists will dress you for the Tribute Parade."

As if on cue, the train turns a corner and the Capitol comes into full view. The grandeur of the city is breathtaking, as are the citizens who inhabit it. Everything looks luxurious and foreign, almost like we stepped into a different world. The people lining the tracks have an alien look about them as well, what with their dyed skin and cosmetic surgeries. Most of them don't even look human anymore. In a word, I'd describe the Capitol as surreal.

Starting to lose my appetite, I stop eating and sit back in my chair, waiting for the train to pull into the station.

* * *

Sooner or later the train comes to a halt and the shouts of the onlookers become unbearably loud as the doors open and we emerge from them. Agatha then ushers us off the platform and down a walkway leading to the Remake Center.

Once we're inside and out of the noise, my ears can't stop ringing. A purple woman and a man with horns are waiting for us at the end of the hallway and our escort pushes us in their direction and turns down another hallway with Brutus and Enobaria.

The purple woman grabs my arm forcefully and pulls me into one of the many doorways lining the hall.

"Hello, Clove! I'm Theodora, this is Xenon, and this is Sophia." The purple woman said, gesturing to a man covered in silver tattoos and a dark skinned woman with untamed pink curls.

"Well, let's get started! She only has eight hours until she sees Zenobia!" The tall woman – Sophia – exclaimed, clearly in a rush.

Eight hours later, I am raw and pink from all of the washing and the polishing and the waxing of my body. My hair lies in shiny, soft waves down my back – the only thing shielding my otherwise hairless, naked body from the beady eyes of my stylist, Zenobia.

She's a racially ambiguous woman; I can't quite guess her descent from the look of her darkly tanned skin. Her long hair is white, although she looks way too young for it to be natural. Her eyes are green with slitted pupils like a cat's and she has three whiskers on both sides of her mouth. And when she talks, I can almost swear that her tongue is blue.

Zenobia continues to circle me like a vulture. "Mhm. Yes, I can work with this." She stops and looks me in the eyes. "Put your robe on and go eat. I'll be back with your outfit."

Xenon helps me shrug into a robe and shows me to a black leather couch with an assortment of foods on a table in front of it. I sit and nibble on some cheese and crackers, wondering what sort of costumes these nutcases are going to put in for these public events.

About 30 minutes later, my stylist walks back in with a trunk in tow behind her. From the chest she pulls a golden armor of sorts and beckons me with an elegant finger.

At Theodora's request, I step out of my robe and Zenobia slips the metal outfit over my head. It's a lot lighter than I expected, much to my relief. Next she sets a helmet atop my head; it's made of the same gold metal as my dress and has wings against each side forged from the same material.

My stylist finishes pinning my hair back and I can finally look in the mirror. The armor is sleeveless and has what looks like metal golden scales – or feathers, really – and becomes less stiff at my waist, dropping into a skirt that comes past my ankles. On my feet is a pair of gold leather sandals, matching my gladiator-esque look. They kept my makeup simple, using just enough to highlight my best features, which apparently are my eyes and cheekbones.

"Ready?" Zenobia asked almost annoyedly. She isn't a woman of many words.

I nod curtly and my prep team wishes me well as I follow my stylist out the door and into the elevator.

The slim white haired woman presses a few buttons and we sink to one of the lower floors. The doors open and we are in the stables, which is already flooding with other tributes. I keep my chin up and wear an icy glare as we walk to the District 2 chariot; Alexios always told us that it's important to display dominance and superiority in front of the others. It's sort of become a habit at this point.

When we reach the chariot, Zenobia goes off to talk to what I assume is Cato's stylist. Up at the District 1 chariot, I see Cato flirting with the female tribute – Glimmer, I think. It's no wonder that he's taken interest in her, seeing as though she's built like a woman and is wearing a shimmering, almost see-through skintight bodysuit. The only thing keeping her from looking vulgar is all of jewels sown into her clothing, covering her up.

For some reason, I'm suddenly enraged; I can't imagine why though. Next thing I know, I'm walking up to them.

"You know, you aren't supposed to flirt with the competition." I say, keeping a straight face.

"That's not a rule –" Cato starts.

"Competition? I thought we were allies." The blonde girl added.

"Thankfully, alliances don't last forever." I reply, letting a twinge of annoyance seep into my tone.

At that moment, Zenobia came over and pushed Cato and I into our chariot.

"The chariots leave in two minutes." She says in a heavy Capitol accent before disappearing again.

"You're jealous, aren't you?" he inquires, not looking at me.

"Why would I be jealous? We hate each other."

"Do mortal enemies sleep on each other's shoulders?" Cato asks, turning to look at me.

"So you don't despise me?"

The corner of his mouth quirks into a smile, but I don't get an answer before our chariot lurches forward and into the street. Spectators applaud and cheer at our golden display. Our features remain cold and steadfast as the horses pound their way towards the City Circle.

Minutes later, the crowd starts screaming even louder than before, so I look up at the screens to see what all of the fuss is about. My hands clench into fists as I see the face of the District 12 female tribute on every screen. Her stylist actually set the pair from 12 _on fire_. I try to remain placid as we pull into the City Circle, but even when their flames go out, all eyes are still trained on them.

President Snow starts his speech and I tune him out, taking pleasure in thinking of all the ways I could kill Katniss.

* * *

I'm snapped out of my reverie when the chariot starts to move again. It's a short ride to the Training Center, and soon enough we're pulling in through the large double doors.

Zenobia and Cato's stylist come to help us off of the chariots and remove our headgear. I take one last look at the scum from District 12 and am filled with a rage more intense than before.

"I told you to watch for her." Enobaria hisses, clearly just as mad as I am.

* * *

When I finally get my hands on the girl from 12, I'm going to put out her flame. Permanently.

* * *

**Author's Note: ** I'm sorry that I haven't updated in a few weeks! There's no excuse; I'm really just too lazy to get these out on time. Please write a review with your honest opinion.


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